Forever after
by Mierke
Summary: Hermione Granger is a mystery. And Severus loves solving mysteries.


Hermione Granger.

She had been nothing but a whisper in the long, unforgiving years of the War. A reverent whisper among the Order of the Phoenix: the one to singlehandedly create their communication system, fine-tuning it every week so they were always one step ahead of spies. No one had ever seen her; she is an echo, a reverberation, someone with no past or future. Someone, but no one at the same time. Just a whisper.

Hermione Granger.

Among the Death Eaters, she had been a roar. A roar of lust and delight; here she had been known as the most astonishing woman money could buy. Almost everyone had seen her, but no one had ever heard her; she is a shadow, a ghost, someone without history or time to come. Somebody, but nobody at the same time. Just a will-o'-the-wisp.

Severus Snape had never been a true part of the Order, nor a Death Eater. He had never seen, nor heard Hermione Granger, but he had always felt connected to her. Connected, because she too didn't really _belong_. He is fascinated by the woman who so easily seduced both sides, so easily played all of them.

Looking at the Hogwarts uniform in her picture, Severus is sure he must have taught her, but he can't remember her. She wasn't a Slytherin, that he knows for sure. He thinks he might feel guilty for not recognizing her, but he has already collected so much guilt that he can't really tell the difference.

It feels wrong to see her face so prominently featured on the Daily Prophet, the headline exclaiming _"Hermione Granger: evil or innocent?"_. No one ever really knew whose side she was on, not even Severus. She knew all the secrets among the Death Eaters, but he is sure she has never told Dumbledore any of them. Just as she has never revealed the Order's secrets to any of the men that visited her.

Hermione Granger is a mystery. And Severus _loves _solving mysteries.

* * *

I stare at the _Daily Prophet _in my hands.

I hardly recognize the picture I'm looking at. The girl in the picture is smiling happily, though a bit strained; her hands fidgeting in her lap as if she is missing something. Back then, I didn't go anywhere without at least one book with me, but I hadn't been allowed to bring it to the photo shoot. I still remember how empty my hands felt.

Little had I known it'd be a harbinger of how empty my life would become.

Oh, the books are still there. Rows and rows of them, filling the cases that hide the walls of my apartment from sight. But the books are cold, filled with research, filled with dark magic, filled with every topic I could have needed in the past five years. Knowledge filled their pages, but they were never filled with hope. Or home. Or safety.

I haven't felt safe in a long, long time.

I have never felt shelter with other people. I couldn't connect with my classmates at Hogwarts. Nobody wanted to be friends with the girl who knew her books by heart before classes had even started. The teachers avoided me, scared I'd ask questions they couldn't answer. I had decided then and there that I would take control of my own life.

It hadn't taken long before power was all I had left.

The girl in the picture looks back at me, still smiling. I tear my gaze away and start reading the article. It is strange to realize that those words are about me. I never knew the members of the Order of the Phoenix called me a genius; never realized the Death Eaters called me Jezebel.

It seems only fitting, now, that it would be the side of good that would prosecute me.

I fold the paper, carefully. My loathing for ruining the written word has never left me, despite all the ugly things I have done and seen. I've always been more careful with paper than with people. I put it away on my stack of Daily Prophets and prepare my apartment. I don't care for being prosecuted, and I will not hide; I will be the one to write the end to my journey.

* * *

Settling in to read the article, Severus first casts a look at the one who wrote it. With the Daily Prophet, that is the only way to find out how reliable the article is. If the author is Rita Skeeter, you can be sure every word of it is an elaborately spun lie.

This article is credited to LL, to Severus' delight. Surprisingly, anything the Lovegood girl writes has a high probability of being true. While at times she has a unique spin on reality, he has never been able to bust her on outright fabrication of facts, events or quotes.

_Hermione Granger: evil or innocent? _starts by chronicling Hermione's early life, stating her September birthday and high IQ prevented her from making friends at Hogwarts. Hermione found solace in books – in fact, the only person Lovegood could find at Hogwarts who had anything to say about Hermione Granger was Irma Pince, who remembered her fondly as the girl who closed the library with her.

_Though she had been an all-O student, the few teachers who remembered her claimed it was impossible to reach out to her, her self-inflicted isolation a solid wall between her and anyone else. According to them, this was enough explanation as to why hardly anyone seems to remember teaching her. Apparently no one cared enough to break through her walls or even wonder why she had built them up._

_After finishing Hogwarts, Hermione Granger seems to have disappeared, only to resurface a couple of years later when the War had reached its peak. Worshipped as a genius among the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's group of resistance against Voldemort, and as a Jezebel among the Death Eaters, Voldemort's loyal followers, she has been claimed by both sides. _

_Known to be highly adept at hiding, it remains to be seen whether Granger will ever be found. But it seems inevitable that after the exoneration of Severus Snape and the public execution of Lucius Malfoy, Hermione Granger will now be the name on everyone's lips._

* * *

Severus didn't expect to actually find her.

As he stands in front of her door, contemplating whether going in is really what he wants, he wonders about how easily he found her. Either he is just that good, or she isn't all that they made her out to be. Those are both real possibilities; though there is, of course, the third one of her not hiding at all.

The hallway is empty, the white walls not giving any indication of what lies behind the door. It is as he expected it to be, but still, for a moment he falters. Was this so easy because she is planning on killing everyone that comes through her door? For a moment, his self-preservation instincts war with his need to know everything. In the end, the fact that he has nothing left to lose wins out.

He tries to locate a doorbell. Not finding one he raises his hand to knock at her door, surprised when it opens just before his knuckles touch the dark wood. Hermione Granger stands in the doorway, matured from the picture in the paper, but still easily recognizable. Her eyes roam over his form and he suddenly feels self-conscious.

"I was wondering whether you'd try the door eventually."

She laughs at him and for a moment all of his defences flare up.

"I had to look for spells and traps," he snaps back, earning another laugh. He pulls himself up, giving her his most intimidating glare.

"I see."

Her tone indicates she doesn't believe him for a second. She doesn't shrink back, doesn't move, doesn't give any indication that she even notices that one of the most formidable wizards of Britain is standing in front of her. She just looks at him, impatience in her eyes.

"You were a spy," he says, as if that explains all his reasons for being here on his doorstep. Maybe it does.

"No, I wasn't," she contradicts.

She doesn't elaborate.

* * *

Severus Snape is standing in my doorway.

I'm confused. I had expected Aurors or Death Eaters; it is, after all, why I put the monitoring spells on my door. I know someone is going to come find me eventually. The spells I used might make it more difficult to hurt me, but my door is open to anyone who comes in peace.

Why would Severus Snape come in peace, though? Why would he even acknowledge my existence? As a professor he hadn't noticed me. Have things changed so much that I am suddenly visible to all? That is a scary thought.

I indicate for him to come in, offer him a cup of tea that he declines. He seems at a loss for words and I wonder why that is. There is a restless energy about him; I would offer him a seat, but I suspect he'd rather stand and pace. I sit down with my own cup of tea.

"I can help you disappear," he says, and I'm so shocked that I start laughing.

"It's not funny!" he accuses me, his voice dark and hard and I wonder why not more students swoon at the sound of it. He finally sits down, his face in his hands. "It's not."

"If I'd wanted to disappear," I offer, "I would have done so."

His head whips up, his eyes boring into mine, confusion evident in them.

"Why wouldn't you?"

I gesture around me, but I don't think he understands.

"I am just my library. Without the war, I've lost who I am." I hesitate, before adding: "I have done dark, unforgivable things in the last five years. I don't deserve to live."

He flinches and I wonder how many of his thoughts echo my own.

"You have done so many good things, too. Doesn't that mean you don't deserve to die?"

There is desperation in his voice and I wonder how much of this is him asking for me, and how much of it is him asking for himself. I only answer his hidden question.

"You chose, in the end. You were loyal to Dumbledore. You fought on the good side. There was no duality, not in your heart. You deserve to live."

* * *

For a moment silence settles in the room.

"I could have chosen," Hermione continues, softer, though there's a hard edge to her voice that Severus can feel in his bones. "But I chose not to."

"Why?"

Severus needs to know the answers, needs to _understand_. For a while he thinks Hermione won't answer him; she pours herself another cup of tea, adds some sugar and slowly stirs.

"Everyone knows your story", she starts. "You chose for love. And doesn't everyone? Dumbledore chose the light because the darkness might have killed his sister. Lucius chose the darkness, because the light wouldn't protect his family."

"I rather think Lucius chose for power," Severus answers, the cynicism darkening his voice.

"Power?" Hermione laughs. "Power is to be had in not choosing. I slept with the Death Eaters, relishing the thought that they were unknowingly bedding a Mudblood. I tinkered with the communication for the Order, knowing that with just one word I could bring the entire organization down. I was so high on power, I didn't even have to wield it to surrender to its rush."

Severus can almost feel the tinkling on his skin and he wonders whether she's doing it intentionally. She has closed her eyes; the light sway of her head evidence of a magic current he doesn't feel.

"I had no one to fight for. The light wanted my brains, but not me. The dark wanted my body, but not me. I had no friends. No family. No one to avenge or protect. I just had myself."

Hermione pulls her magic back and fleetingly Severus misses it.

"Without the power... the rush is gone?" he offers, his eyes holding hers. She nods, slowly.

"I could have saved everyone," she whispers. "I don't want to disappear. I need to die for what I didn't do."

"Maybe," he acknowledges, the only proof of how much her words affected him in the way his body tenses, the way his words fall in a whisper matching hers. "You want to talk about not saving people? About letting the world down? You think you're worse than a proven murderer? Well, I didn't save Harry Potter. He was 17 years old and he looked at me and I _didn't save him_."

The silence that descends is only broken by his final whisper, the steel in his voice so hard and cold that Hermione flinches away from him.

"You don't get to give up, just because you made mistakes. You make them right."

She sighs and gets up. Severus can almost feel her closing down, but she doesn't push him out the door. Instead, she walks over to glance out the window.

"They're coming, you know. They aren't here yet, but someone will come to take me away. You think they will allow me a chance to fight? You think either side can forgive what they see as betrayal?"

Severus thinks he can see a tear glistening on her face, reflecting the light from outside.

"You can run," he offers. "Mount a defence. Don't come back until you know what to say and how to say it. You've disappeared before. Why couldn't you do it again?"

"It's easy to disappear when no one's looking for you."

Severus can see her tense up and before he realizes what he's doing, he gets up and walks towards her. She doesn't turn around, though he's sure she has heard him move. Once he reaches her, he lays his hand on her hip, then, when she doesn't reject him, encircles her waist with his arms.

"You were lonely," he says, looking at the people in the street outside. "People aren't meant to be alone. We go crazy."

"We?" she asks, and he has to strain to hear her.

"You think I was different because I chose for love. I think we're the same. Loving Lily was a way to fill the void in me, as the power was for you. I loved her, I did, but my feelings for her were intensified by the fact that she was the only one to see me."

He rests his head on her hair, the soft tickle of it against his chin a strange contrast to the harshness of their words.

"You can fight, you know."

She tenses in his arms, and for a moment he hates himself for breaking the tranquillity.

"But I don't want to."

It's soft and he pretends he hasn't heard her.

* * *

Severus Snape envelops me and I lose myself in him. Part of me wants to turn around and kiss him. Part of me wants to stay here forever. But I have a purpose, a goal. I can't let myself be sidetracked by the first person to ever see me.

I break away from his embrace. My movements feel empty as I walk over to one of my bookcases and take a thick, heavy tome from the upper shelf. Putting it on the table, I open it, taking a small vial from it. I feel the comforting weight of it in my hand. _This _is my next step.

Severus takes the bottle from me and I look at him as he turns the bottle over in his hand, sniffing it. Already I miss his arms around me, and I want to bury myself in him, delude myself into thinking he is safety and strength and _home_. I can see his mind working to identify the contents, to evaluate the purpose. It takes him longer than I expected and I wonder how many Potions he actually got to make during the war. He puts the bottle down, and the table shakes from its force.

"This will kill you," he states, as if I don't know that. "And it won't be a happy death, either."

"It will be fast, though," I point out as I take the bottle from him and put it in front of me. No need to risk my plans by letting him stay too close to it.

"But the pain..."

His voice catches, and no doubt he is remembering the Cruciatus Curse that Voldemort loved so much. The pain will be similar, but there is a difference.

"I need to suffer."

I can't look at him, but I need to explain.

"All these years, the War, the suffering? I didn't suffer for one second of it. I was happy, happy in my bubble away from the fighting, away from the pain, away from the blood and the loss and all the deaths. And I was high, I was riding this high for _five years_. It's not just that I didn't help people. Because maybe I did. Maybe my communication skills changed things for the Order; maybe what I did made a difference in the end. It's about the fact that I loved it."

I grab his hand, harder than I'd intended, and I think he flinches.

"Those five years, Severus, those were the happiest time of my life. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine that while you were suffering, while you were seeing people die and having to choose between giving up your status as a spy or hurting someone else, someone out there was _happy_?"

He turns away, pulling his arm free and I can't blame him. Pain rushes through me, but I can't blame him.

* * *

Severus' hands ball into a fist; a movement he is only barely aware of as he stands up and lets his chair clatter to the ground. The anger that rises in him is all-consuming, unexpected, and he wants to rage at her.

Happy.

Someone was _happy_ during those years.

He had come here, expecting to find someone similar. He thought Hermione might be the only one to understand him. He thought she knew what it was like to play both sides, to never reveal your true intentions, to never be able to make friends because you could never be truthful.

"You are _nothing _like me," he spats at her, stalking to the door, intent on leaving this disaster behind. As he touches the door, he hears the pop of a potion bottle uncorking. The rage that still hasn't left him makes him turn around, race to her and smack the bottle out of her hand. It hits the wall, but doesn't break, falling to the ground instead.

"It's spelled," she says softly, just as he realizes that not one drop has left the bottle.

"It is too easy."

He quenches the urge to walk over to the bottle and crunch it under his feet; no doubt nothing of what he wants to do to it will actually break it. How can she think committing suicide is _enough_?

"I know." Hermione takes a breath, then continues. "But who do you think has the rights to determine my end? Is it Dumbledore, who would never understand how people can be led to make these choices? Or a Death Eater, who will get off on my pain and suffering, making him just as bad as me in handing out my punishment? Or do you think _you_ have the authority to decide how I should die?"

She stands up to retrieve the bottle. Severus pants, feeling as though he has just run a race, and lost. Making his own decisions, isn't that what he longed for all those years he was fighting a war?

"I never said I was like you. This has _never _been about you." Hermione puts the bottle back on the table. Silence descends, and for a moment she hopes it will speak for her, say what she doesn't want to put into words.

"I am 27 years old," Hermione continues then. "I was happy for five of them. That happiness has become my torture."

Severus leans against the table, paralyzed as his mind tries to work its way through what he's hearing.

"I've lost my sense of purpose," he whispers, though he doesn't intend for Hermione to hear him. "Maybe part of me was happier during the war, too."

The sun catches the potion and leaves flashes of red and purple on the table. Startled, he realizes it's the only colour in the whole apartment. It shouldn't change how he views the woman in front of him, but somehow, it does. They are more similar than he wants them to be, even though they're more different than he'd always thought.

"I forgive you," he says, surprising even himself. Hermione turns around, startled.

"Maybe I don't get to forgive you," he adds hastily. "I don't think you're looking for forgiveness. But I want you to know that there is someone who knows you and forgives you. I don't..."

He gathers his thoughts, looking at the bottle, then at Hermione.

"It aches to know someone was happy during the years of torture. I hate you for it and I want you to suffer for it. But... It aches to know that you were unhappy during the peaceful years. Someone should have seen you. Someone should have taken your hand and eased your way. It's not fair to judge you for taking the only path offered."

Severus walks towards her, takes her hand. He looks at the way they fit together and a burst of longing for something that could have been rushes through his body.

"I didn't remember you before," he admits, his other hand grabbing at her waist and pulling her closer. "But I will remember you forever after."

He embraces her, then, her body relaxing in his hold as she puts her head on his shoulder.

* * *

The bottle is warm in my hand, the liquid swirling and bubbling. The potion never seems to stop moving and my eyes are glued to it, wanting to see anything else but the desperation in the eyes of the man in front of me.

I might not know why he is here, but I can tell what he's thinking. I don't need Legilimency to read Severus. I can read him like I would read my diary; I know his feelings, because they mirror my own. His hand softly touches mine and involuntarily my fingers tighten, but he's not looking to take the bottle away. He just wants to look me in the eye.

I'm still contemplating whether that might even be worse, when his lips very softly, very briefly touch mine. Is he hinting at a Romeo and Juliet-esque ending? Because I won't allow it. My downfall doesn't have to be his.

These are my sins. I should pay for them.

I slowly undo the cork, the light tremble in my fingers making my ring tingle against the glass. The smell fills the room; it's strong, very strong, and I feel Severus' hand tightening on mine. It hurts, but in a good way. It's a reaffirmation of our connection; it is an _I care_ even if it is too soon for _I love you_.

For a second, I let myself believe in a world where I don't swallow. In a world where I bury my head in his shoulder and believe in the safety of his arms. In a world where I have a chance of happiness, a chance to change the way this world has treated me and the way I have treated it.

But I know it's an illusion.

I tip the bottle, let the liquid slowly slide over my tongue and down my throat. I give myself over to the pain. This is my salvation.

* * *

Hermione swallows the potion.

Severus can almost imagine that he can see the route it takes; that he can see the muscles in her gullet work to push the liquid down, that he can see her stomach opening up to welcome the brew. He sees her eyes flicker from the pain, as her lips form into a smile, welcoming the punishment she has set for herself.

As the bottle hits the ground, its glass whole despite the stone tiles beneath it, the first tear glides down his face. Hermione's finger, in a last attempt to comfort him, wants to swipe it away, but before it can reach his face, her movements still.

The tear seems to burn his cheek, but as soon as he wipes it away, the next falls, starting something he has no energy to stop. He hasn't cried once in the last thirty years. With Hermione's still body in his arms, he surrenders to the immense feelings of grief and despair that overtake him.

It starts with quiet tears, but the longer he sits at her side, the louder his sobs become. After a while, he isn't even sure anymore why he is crying. He's crying for Lily, and for Harry. He's crying for all the pain and suffering he has caused. He's crying for a war that broke him. He's crying for Hermione and the life and love she never had.

The moment the Aurors arrive at Hermione's building, he feels them. Forcing himself to leave her side, Severus stands up and pushes his grief away. Whispering his goodbye, he softly kisses Hermione's forehead. As he Apparates, the doors break open.

* * *

_Hermione Granger: Coward until the end_

_Early last night Hermione Granger was found in her apartment, after drinking a potion to end her life. The bottle was still lying at her feet, evidence that this was Granger's final act of cowardice. Even in death she chose the easy way out._

_Hermione Granger has always kept herself hidden away. It doesn't matter at what time in her life you try to find her, because from an early age on, hiding has been her go-to way of dealing with life. In an interview with her parents, her father mentions that she would often be lost for hours on end. _

_"She'd leave when school was over and wouldn't immediately come home. We have worried about her for more hours than we can count. Honestly, we were relieved when Hogwarts took her in. Sending Hermione to a boarding school was our best option by then to keep her safe."_

_Like reported before, though, Hogwarts wasn't the saviour that Granger's parents hoped it would be. Always thinking herself better than others, Granger shunned her classmates and teachers. This arrogance continued during the war, in which Granger played with people's lives as if they were her puppets._

_The decision to kill herself must have been a hard one for someone who loved herself so much. Apparently, though, the Death Eaters' whore was too scared to face the actions of her consequences. While no suicide note has been found, the amount of Dark magic books found in her apartment puts her firmly on the bad side of the war. There was no way Granger would have been saved like the spy Severus Snape. The trial of Lucius Malfoy, undoubtedly a man whom she serviced many a night, frightened her to death._

_With no one left to mourn her, Granger's funeral will be very lonely._

Eerily calm despite his fury, Severus tosses the paper into his hearth. With satisfaction he sees Rita Skeeter's words crumple and burn. He had known, of course, that this was the way Hermione would be remembered. Hermione had known that this would be the legacy she left behind. He still wishes he could change it somehow.

* * *

It is the first sunshine of the year. The rays don't actually warm a body yet, but they make the dew sparkle and the world lighten.

Severus watches as the dark brown coffin gets lowered into the ground. The funeral was short, the official rushing through the ceremony as if it didn't matter. As if Hermione didn't matter. It hurts, but Severus doesn't have the energy to defend her.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the cleansing air rush in. As the coffin settles down, his eyes meet those of the only other person who attended. A woman, blond hair, wearing all white.

Knowing her to be Luna Lovegood - who else would it be - Severus nods in thanks and acknowledgement.

The empty air above the coffin fills with dirt and the official leaves even before the final grain has settled. Severus walks towards the grave and puts his hands on the tombstone. He closes his eyes, and thinks of her. Thinks of who she was, of what she meant to him. It feels both wrong and incredibly right to be the one to do this. As he takes a step back, he looks at the letters that appeared on the stone:

_Hermione Granger_

_Sep 19, 1979_

_March 5, 2007_

_She will be remembered_

His eyes blink at the epitaph, at the purplish hue that surrounds the letters. It's the colour of the potion, the only colour he ever saw her wear and he wonders whether she'd be happy with it. He sits on a bench opposing the grave, needing to rest.

Luna sits down next to him. They don't look at each other, they don't talk. They watch the day pass by together, the sun rays illuminating Hermione's grave as if to solidify the fact that she is really dead. Really gone.

As Luna stands up, she turns to him.

"I think you loved her."

Her words startle him out of the half-dazed state in which he has spent the day and he looks at her, blinking against the sunlight.

"I think I did," he replies.

"That must have been nice," Luna whispers.

She leaves and Severus is left behind. He doesn't move, has no intention of going anywhere else than where he is right now. He watches and waits to hear her name whispered in the wind.


End file.
